There was keen rivalry among the young men and boys, and Kaitae had determined this year to be the first to discover the gulls on the islands. Running down the slope of the volcano, past the great stone images weighing many tons, he made his way quickly to an observation tower, about thirty feet in height, resting upon a platform of rock over the tombs of his people. Here, in the season, the men watched for turtles and signaled to their fellows. From the top of this lookout Kaitae gazed over the blue water. There were the little islands below him, and—yes, about them hovered numbers of white objects, the long-looked-for gulls, which evidently had arrived during the night. With a joyous shout Kaitae sprang down, and was soon bounding over the rocks to convey the news to the natives. At once they came swarming out of their stone burrows like ants, and before long began to move in the direction of the coast. When all had gathered at the cliff, the king addressed them, repeating the time-honored rules for the race.
At his word they were to start for the island, and the one who returned to him first with an unbroken egg would have the especial favor of the great spirit Meke Meke.
The band of excited men and boys stood in various expectant postures, some with one foot in advance, others with arms eagerly stretched to the front, ready for the word from the king.
Kaitae stood near his father, his eyes flashing, and determination expressed in every feature. He had decided upon a dangerous course. The cliff where the start was made was a precipitous, jagged wall rising far above the sea, and breasting it with a bold front. From it numerous paths led down to the water; and Kaitae knew that many a fierce struggle would take place to reach the water's edge. He had determined to take the cliff jump, a perilous feat that had not been attempted since the king, his grandfather, a famous athlete, had performed it when a boy.
Finally, when all in line were in readiness, the king gave the signal, and on rushed the crowd of islanders, with loud cries and shouts. Out from among them shot the form of a boy, straight as an arrow, his long black hair flying in the wind—not to the lower beach, not to the narrow trails made by his ancestors, but directly to the brink of the precipice.
Image
The train of dusky figures paused breathless, and the king ran forward to see Kaitae dive out into space and gracefully disappear into the depths below. Up he came presently, a spot on the water, and before the astonished natives could recover from their excitement he was far on his way to the island.
Down the narrow trails worn in the lava swept the crowd, pushing one another over in their rush to the shore, diving, leaping, and hurling themselves into the sea, in eager endeavor to reach the island. But Kaitae was far in advance, and before the crowd of egg-seekers were halfway over he had gained the rocky point of Motu Nui, and amid the threatening cries of the birds had clambered up. Dozens of speckled eggs were strewn about. Seizing one, Kaitae placed it in his mouth as the safest place, and, springing again into the water, was homeward bound.
No one seemed discouraged because Kaitae was ahead. A hundred accidents might yet befall him. The current was strong against the return; the egg might break—it generally did; he might slip on the rocks in the quick ascent; he might be injured, even killed—such things had been known. So the contestants swam on, and soon scores of dark forms could be seen crawling out of the water over the kelp-covered rocks, slipping, sliding, falling; then darting this way and that in search of an egg. Having found one, each plunged quickly into the sea. Altogether it was a strange and exciting scene, even to the king, who had witnessed every race for many years. Some of the men broke their eggs and were obliged to return, while others could not find any, and were pecked at and buffeted by the enraged birds, which filled the air with their cries, as they swooped down to attack the intruders.
Kaitae reached the shore of Orongo well ahead of all except one man, who had won the race more than once in former years—a daring climber, a rapid and powerful swimmer. But Kaitae drew himself up on the rocks carefully, that the egg might not be broken, then sped away up the face of the cliff. For days he had studied the steep ascent, and a score of times had scaled its rough face, but never before with a large egg in his mouth. When halfway up he was breathing hard. His mouth became dry and parched, and the egg seemed to be choking him. But still he held on, climbing higher and higher, spurred on by the shouts of his companions, who were now landing in large numbers.
One more effort, and he reached the top, and running forward, he held out the egg, unbroken, to the king. He was just in time, for his nearest rival, breathless Tahana, came rushing up the narrow trail, followed, a few moments later, by a score of disappointed contestants.
<!-- image -->As victor, Kaitae was the center of interest for the remainder of the day. Many gifts and favors fell to him, and he sat in the seat of honor, next to the king, at the dance and merrymakings on that and succeeding nights.
Kaitae was more intelligent than many of his comrades, and while he joined in their games and pastimes, he as much enjoyed listening to his elders when they related stories of the wonders of Waihu in the olden time. He learned that in those days the island was inhabited by many tribes of men, all under his ancestor, the king; and that the curious platforms and monuments, which have since made Easter Island famous over the entire world, were long before erected by his forefathers, just as in our parks statues are set up to commemorate our own distinguished men; and that the platforms were tombs, as much revered by the natives of the island as Westminster Abbey is revered by patriotic Englishmen.
During the boyhood of Kaitae, several strange ships bearing white men visited the island and traded with the islanders. But some difficulties occurred, and numbers of his people were killed; and once a horde of native enemies came in canoes, drove them to their hidden caves, destroyed their homes, and killed hundreds of the people. When Kaitae and his friends came out from their hiding places they found the statues, in many cases, thrown down and broken in pieces, and the tombs destroyed. The heads of the images weighed tons, and many could not be replaced; and there they lie to this day, prone upon the side of the great volcano.
A descendant of King Kaitae, also bearing his name, is, or was a few years ago, still living at Easter Island—an old man over eighty years of age, who delighted in talking to foreigners of the wonders of his native Waihu in ancient days.
HOW SOME BIRDS ARE CARED FOR.
AMONG the birds we find most striking acts of affection, and, strange to say, most frequently among the very birds from which we would least expect such a demonstration. The uncanny night hawk, the boon companion of the bat, which appears at twilight and prolongs its revels far into the night, is an example. Rarely seen and little known, though the night hawks are a large family and of wide distribution, this bird shows remarkable attachment for its young, and in protecting them exhibits more intelligence than many of our domestic birds.
"Whip-poor-wills."
Image
The term "night hawk" is commonly applied to several species, all of which have certain peculiarities. From its curious cry, one is called chuck-will's-widow, this call being uttered so loudly by the bird that it has been heard for nearly a mile. About the middle of March the night hawks return from their winter pilgrimage; and, unlike most of the birds, they have no housekeeping to keep them busy, as they build no nests. While the robins, humming birds, thrushes, and others are busily scouring the country for material with which to build their nurseries, the chuck-will's-widow is fast asleep in some out-of-the-way corner, coming out only in the afternoon and evening to gather her supply of food.
When the time comes for laying, our seemingly lazy bird selects some secluded spot, and deposits her eggs anywhere on the ground; and the very first glimpse, if we are fortunate in finding them at all, explains why she builds no nest. The eggs are almost the exact color of the surroundings, and so mottled and tinted that only by the merest accident are they discovered; and when the two little chuck-will's-widows finally come out, they are even more difficult to find than the eggs. Being very sleepy little fellows, they rarely move, and though standing within a few inches of them, the observer might suppose them to be two old brown leaves or a bunch of brown moss, so deceiving is their mimicry.
Though the eggs and young are so perfectly protected by nature, the parents are no less zealous in caring for them, and have been seen to go through remarkable performances in the defense of their home. When an intruder is first discovered, the mother bird throws herself upon the ground, ruffles up her feathers, and limps or flutters, always moving away from the apology for a nest; and when the credulous follower is safely out of the way, the wily mother, who has led him to think she can be easily caught, suddenly recovers from her lameness, and darts away to regain the nest from another direction. If, however, the nest be found and the eggs disturbed, the birds show the greatest distress. A naturalist, who had merely handled the eggs without removing them, and then concealed himself in a neighboring thicket, saw the parent birds come skimming over the grass, alighting by the eggs in apparent distress, and uttering curious cries, as if greatly frightened. Finally, after a consultation, each bird opened its great mouth (generally used as an insect trap), took in an egg, and, to the amazement of the naturalist, disappeared, carrying the object of solicitude to a safer spot.
The same habit has been observed in the collared goatsuckers of the Cape of Good Hope, which, like our night hawk, have enormous mouths. They also form no nest, relying upon the difficulty of discovering their eggs, which are like the surroundings where they are deposited; and when the eggs are threatened by any great danger the parents take them in their mouths and fly away—certainly a convenient method of moving the household!
The well-known whip-poor-will, which is at once recognized by the cry from which it is named, appears at dusk, and at one time was an object of superstitious fear to the Indians. These birds also lay their eggs anywhere upon the ground, and have been observed to roll them along with their bills; but perhaps the most remarkable sight is to see the anxious parent seize her shapeless chick by the downy feathers of its back, as a cat seizes a kitten, and carry it away over grass and sedge to some more secluded spot.
According to Azara, the naturalist, some curious beliefs are entertained in South America concerning the ibijau, a night hawk. It is a large bird, but instead of laying its eggs on the ground, it deposits them in a hollow tree, and, according to the natives, fastens the eggs to the wood with a gum, which the old bird breaks off when the eggs are hatched, and so liberates the chick. But this gumming process is probably an accidental occurrence.